Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise)

Desperado Dale

Book #4 ~ Scenic Route
to
Paradise

A Novel by Andrea Aarons

Book #1 ~ Cynic, Surfer,
Saint

Book #2 ~ Merry’s
Marauders

Book #3 ~ Catching Kate

(Book #5 ~ Conclusion;
due out this spring)

“My dear cousin Hugh...”
The Prince of D’Almata began with a sigh. “A shrewd man foresees the
difficulties ahead and prepares for them; the simpleton goes blindly on and
suffers the consequences.

Desperado Dale

Book #5 ~ Scenic Route to
Paradise

Preface

Dale stood six foot two, eyes of blue, five
o’clock shadow - three days new. His hair, normally cut short to the extreme
had grown out during this trip abroad. The tight but large curls lay about his
30 year old head like a two-tone blonde shag carpet with a perm.

The trip had been a well earned vacation after
several weeks of 16 to 18 hour days freelancing predominantly computer geek
work for wealthy clients who were seeking internet security and identity
protection; Dale’s specialty. He had understood from the conception of the trip
that his holiday - three weeks in
Europe
with his wife and daughter wouldn’t be all rest
and relaxation. His mother had assigned Dale the task of escorting her elderly
parents to D’Almata in the
Adriatic Sea
for her wedding.

Toni Merriweather had been widowed almost three
years and she was remarrying. Her parents, Dale’s grandparents couldn’t travel
alone... not together, not separately and not at the mature age of almost 90
years. So in response to his mother’s request, Dale agreed.

The trip was swell up until the third day. They
had spent two days in
Britain
visiting Dale’s college chum but the third day... On the third
day they arrived in
France
. Minutes after they checked into their hôtel with their
televisions on, they realized all hell had broke loose behind them in the
states. Earthquakes, terrorism and heartache came streaming descriptively
across the flat screen for days on end.

Also, on day three but not as appallingly severe
as the news of
America
under fire from man and God or so it seemed to Dale, was his
grandfather’s incessant and vocal complaints about
France
.

It became months of Grandpa’s criticism of
everything French and as fate would have it - only Grandpa spoke French
fluently within their small traveling group. The broader difficulties of moving
through a foreign country during a time of international upheaval were trouble
enough. Cell phones and much satellite technology had been all but obsolete for
the first few weeks. American credit cards were useless and the emotional
torment of their family and friends’ well being back home was exacerbated by
Grandpa Bernie’s vocally cantankerous behavior.

Of course, now they were in
Greece
!

Dale spoke a smidgen of Greek although after
being married to a second generation American-Greek for almost a decade, he
understood much more than he spoke. Still, his wife, Anna spoke Greek fluently.
Grandpa didn’t! Hallelujah!

At another time, he would have been considered a
Franco-phile, loving everything French but now Dale was relieved to leave
France
behind them.

Being the last passenger to disembark the puddle
jumper of a plane that had brought them to this Greek island, Dale headed for
the parking lot. A quarter hour earlier, Anna going before him with their
daughter, Gwyneth and with Dale’s grandparents was picking up the rental car.

The
Kirkira
Airport
was an international one. It was very old and
small with modernization in patches like a ranch house modified to include the
next generation. Dale looked around and was reminded of the tiny national
airports of
Africa
from his childhood. He
was the eldest child of missionaries and Dale had spent half of his life in
southern African countries. He had learned a lot in
Africa
; how to love life, and
how to serve God but also, how to survive many tricky situations while loving
and serving.

Thinking of
Africa
, Dale smiled to himself as he pulled his cell
phone from his front pocket. He needed to call Anna and let her know he found
Grandma’s carry-on bag. He would explain that it hadn’t been stolen after all.
He planned to tell his wife, that he would be joining them in a matter of
minutes as he had just been waved through the customs control security
checkpoint. As he slung Grandma Bean’s pale pink bag over his left shoulder
Dale heard...
overheard
a security clerk say to another, something about
‘
the American with the pink bag
.’ Dale’s Greek was not fluent and
apparently, the security team thought that he was like the majority of touring
Americans - knowing and also understanding absolutely no Greek.

Glancing over his free shoulder, Dale examined
the men he had overheard. The two were no longer focused on him. Instead, they
were signaling across the short terminal. Dale swiveled his head but the smile,
turned sneer continued on his lips as he picked up his pace. Two more guards,
thick-muscled, mean men unlike the wimpy looking customs clerks were not a
hundred yards from him, sprinting like Rottweilers his way.

Dale rushed forward in long strides pushing
through a throng of travelers preparing to depart. The group hadn’t gone
through security yet. They were the perfect confused diversion he needed. On
the other side of the crowd, still running but bent over, stooped in hopes that
the security men would lose sight of him, Dale dodged into the second of three
semi-lit hallways. Passing a couple of doors, he pushed the third door on the
right and it opened. What luck he thought but then he realized it was the
women’s bathroom. The plaque on the door was one indicator and the black
stockings stemming up from chunky heeled shoes seen under the first stall was
another blatant give-away.

Too late.

Rather than retreat into the hallway, he forced
shut the heavy door behind him. Dale continued with a forced calm to the last
stall. After locking it, he scanned his temporary refuge before climbing atop
the commode.

Not two minutes later, Anna’s phone rang.

“Anna!” whispered Dale. “Listen! Get the car and
drive to your cousins. Get out of the airport as fast as you can.” Anna
stammered and tried to talk but Dale spoke over her. “Something’s wrong. Don’t
wait for me. Get away from the airport. I’ll call you later. Understand?” When
she said “Yes,” he hung up and turned his phone off.

The black stocking lady had exited the bathroom
and afterward, three men burst in with weapons drawn. Even in the best of
times, getting arrested in a foreign country was dicey. But now with
America
paralyzed from natural
and enemy orchestrated disasters... Dale was not about to be arrested on this
island, Greek or no. Besides, he decided,
There was obviously a
misunderstanding
.

What did security want with me
? They had said
something about his pink bag... It was actually, his grandmother’s carry-on.
Was it him they wanted or the bag or something else? Now, they were just a few
feet from discovering him. Dale had realized when entering the bathroom stall
that the locked door would buy him only seconds - a minute at the most.
Quickly, he had repositioned himself.

Yet now, secured in his hideaway, he realized he hadn’t
prayed.
Was it too late
? Dale mouthed a silent prayer. An idea came to
him. Dale had a plan and if God
had
given him the plan as he surmised,
he wouldn’t get arrested - not this time.
Later
? Dale decided he would
cross that bridge when it appeared on his radar...

Chapter 1  The Cookbook

   
    Anna hurriedly left the airport. She wouldn’t dawdle and so, the compact
downtown area was seen only in her rearview mirror as she drove north toward
her cousins’ family home. Gwyneth Merriweather was sleeping in her travel seat
next to Dale’s grandfather...Mr Adams. The travelers had been up most of the
night. Everyone was tired. The old man seemed to be asleep too but Anna wasn’t
certain.
   
    Jellybean or as Gwennie pronounced her great grandmother’s nickname as
simply “Bean,” sat in the passenger seat with a well-worn booklet in her lap.
With admiration, Bean was eyeing the unfolding greenery of the Greek isle.

It was a beautiful island, Anna conceded but
Anna’s appreciation of the scenery was tamped due to the tension brought on by
yet another crisis. In her mind, she reworked the newest problem. Her husband,
Dale was in some sort of trouble at the airport and he had called her saying he
would contact her later. As for Anna, he told her to leave immediately. So, she
left him behind.

Beginning their trip from the
United States
back in March one thing
after another had arisen; first the catastrophes that enveloped
America
and then the
international ripples that came in the wake of the American upset. Finally, the
inevitable personality stresses that surfaced within their traveling group
surfaced ever so often. Only, Gwyneth remained unscathed from the emotional and
physical turmoil that sloshed about the little band pressing for D’Almata,
threatening to sink them at every turn.